


Chaos is the score upon which reality is written

by kaitlia777



Category: White Collar
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-25
Updated: 2012-04-25
Packaged: 2017-11-04 07:53:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/391505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaitlia777/pseuds/kaitlia777
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: There's an explosion at the bureau and there's a whole pile of people missing, including Diana and Neal - while Peter's out and trying to sort out the mess and find his people</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

All around the world, people live with the specter of terrorism everyday. It was just a part of life, something to be aware of, dealt with and moved past. Recent years had seen a lull in IRA activities, no such piece was to be found between Israel and Palestine, or for many other places in the Middle East or South/Central America.

In the United States, most citizens still seemed to hold onto a certain innocence in regards to such things. Of course, the Unabomber, the Oklahoma City and the World Trade Center bombings and finally the catastrophic 9/11 attacks did open many eyes to the possibility of a strike occurring on US soil again. But somehow, when such an attack did happen still seemed… impossible.

No one thought it would happen to them.

And why should they? Was with the police, military and countless government alphabet agencies were for. The men and women in those professions were the ones tasked with protecting the citizenry en mass.

Unfortunately, it was not so easily done, especially when those agencies often found themselves to be targets.

At 10:49 unclear Monday morning, it was a day like any other. Special Agent Peter Burke was crossing the white-collar bullpen, calling out, “Jones, have you seen Diana or Neal?”

Looking up from his desk, Clinton Jones shook his head. “I think they were heading to the old….”

He was cut off as the building shook, lights flicker off as a roar seemed to come from everywhere. People standing were knocked to the ground, some even dumped from their chairs. Shouts rang out, mingling with the ominous rumble and the oddly loud cracking of glass.

As the emergency lights flared to life, Peter picked himself up, certain he would have a bruise where his hip had hit a desk. Most of the agents around him were behaving in a manner befitting their training, wide-eyed, a little scared, but calm.

Emerging from his office, ignoring the blood flowing freely from his brow, Reese Hughes ordered, “Okay people, evacuate in a timely, orderly manner. This is what all those drills were for.”

Everyone makes the stairwells, knowing the elevators wouldn’t be in service. Peter fell in step aside his superior, asking, “Any word on what happened?”

Reese looked grim. “An explosion of some sort. Big.”

That wasn’t good. The stairwell smells of smoke and burnt steal, but the acrid cloud wasn’t dangerously thick yet. At this hour, on a weekday, 26 Federal Plaza was densely populated with agents, local LEO’s and civilian employees, maybe even a tour group or two.

There was no way the casualty count was going to be a low one.

* * *

Neal’s mind swam back to awareness and he immediately wished he were still unconscious. It felt like someone was stabbing him in the temple with an ice pick, then following up that love tap with a cast-iron skillet to the back of the skull.

Reflexively, he rolled on his side as his stomach emptied itself. As he gagged, he mused darkly, that at least the vomit clean the feel chalk out of his mouth.

Wait.

Why do you chalk dust in his mouth? Cracking open an eye, his first thought was that he’d gone blind. Then, as his eyes adjusted, he realized he was merely someplace very, very dark. He could hear the sound of someone moving around, someone sniffling, a distant rumble….

What the hell had been?

The last thing he remembered was smiling at the girl who signed him into the archives. She was young, wore cute little glasses and had pinked up adorably at the attention, causing Diana to grin and give him a teasing poke. He knew she wouldn’t say anything until they were out of the girl’s earshot.

Oh, hell.

“Diana?” he croaked out, struggling to sit up and biting back a groan pain and the sensation of vertigo.

“You okay?”

Diana’s voice sounded strained, but she was close by, feet slipping on gravel… why was there gravel inside? “What happened?” he asked, hissing when on her hands landed on his hair.

He felt her crouch beside him, closer than she would have under normal circumstances, but the lack of light made physical contact more important. “Some sort of an explosion,” she told him grimly. “You’ve been out for several minutes.”

Being knocked unconscious was never a good thing.

“Are we… we were in the archives, right?” he fought to reorganize his thoughts, to make sense of the jumbled memories and impressions.

“Still are,” she said, still sounding very clipped. “Some balls and girders came down. Haven’t found a way out yet.”

Things were getting better and better.

From short distance away, a thin beam of light lanced out, the source hidden by a large slab of concrete. Neal searched his mind and dredged up a name. “Emma… you all right over there?”

“Yes.” The reply was a little shaky, but the sniffles had dried up. “You two okay?”

“Never been better,” he replied lightly, touching Diana’s knee in the dark. “You, Diana?”

“Fine.”

Again, too terse a reply and something clicked, prompting him to ask, “Claustrophobic?”

He felt her tense. “A bit.”

Well, that explained that.

From the other side of the concrete, Emma said, “The elevator shaft and stairwell are both over past you guys.” There was a small grunt and a hand holding the flashlight appeared just below the ceiling. Soon, the rest of the archivist crawled over and landed with a thump.

The damage was even more unsettling when it could be seen. It appeared that the ceiling was being held up by a mix of support beams and luckily fallen hunks of building materials. The air was full of dust and the floor littered with debris.

Diana was coated with a fine layer of gray dust, a few scrapes and abrasions here and there, her previously neat suit torn and ruined.

Ugh, Neal didn’t even want to think about the damage his own suit had taken.

Emma played the light around a small area and it was eerie, like something out of a disaster movie. No door was immediately visible and Neal let out a sigh. Things could never just be easy, could they?

Another rumble shook the room and chunks of concrete and other building materials fell from what was left of the ceiling. Diana let out an unhappy noise while Emma cried out softly, tucking the light safely against her stomach and pressing close to the pair of them.

Not good, Neal thought, hoping the tenuous braces would continue to hold up the rubble above them.

At least until they could get out… or Peter and the others came to get them.


	2. Chapter 2

There were procedures in place for this sort of thing. They trained and ran drills and agents and other personnel knew where they had to be in order to get things done in a crisis. Even so, the scene outside 26 Federal Plaza was one of chaos.

Each division was assigned a particular gathering place and every one knew they were supposed to check in with their supervisors. Peter grew more concerned with each passing minute, as fewer and fewer people stumbled or were carried out of the severely damaged building.

He supposed the white collar unit was fairly lucky. Everyone had checked in…with two notable exceptions.

Diana Barrigan and Neal Caffrey were MIA.

“Any luck?” he asked Jones, as he approached the agent, whom had been searching the crowd for their missing colleagues as well.

The younger man looked troubled as he shook his head. “Agent Tunney saw them getting off of the elevator when he was leaving the old archives.”

The old archives.

Damn it.

They were down in the sub- basement…which was actually below where the blast was thought to have originated. Hopefully, they hadn’t been too close…and hopefully the buildings sturdy infrastructure continued to hold up.

The bomb squad guys were already making noises about dumb luck, as some of the blasts pressure appeared to have dissipated up the shaft of the old freight elevator instead of slamming full bore into the foundation supports. As tall as the building was, the open shaft had lessened the overall damage.

So, as bad as things seemed, it could have been a lot worse.

But at the moment, Peter’s concern was for his missing people and how the hell he was going to get into the building again to find them.

His phone rang, startling him. He’d tried his cell earlier, but all the lines had been busy. Flipping it open, he said, “Burke.”

“Peter! Thank God!” Elizabeth sounded like she was close to tears. “I’ve been trying to reach you since I saw the news. What happened? Are you okay? Moz can’t reach Neal, is he with you?”

“I’m fine,” he assured her, trying to keep his voice calm. There were still things he couldn‘t tell her. “We’re trying to figure out exactly what happened. Most of the cell lines are jammed, so there’s an issue with communication…Is Mozzie with you?”

“Yes!” she said and he could hear the sounds of a crowd in the background. “We’re behind the police barriers…What Moz?…Neal. What about Neal, Peter? Mozzie’s starting to get anxious.”

Damn.

El was going to worry and Moz was going to have a meltdown.

“Neal and Diana haven’t been accounted for yet, hon,” he told her softly and she gasped. He could picture her beautiful face going pale, eyes wide with worry as she’d raise a hand to cover her mouth.

There was a rustle at the other end of the line before Mozzie was shouting in his ear. “What did you tell her?! Oh my God, is he dead? No, no way, Neal is Neal, he….”

“He’s missing.” There was no way to get around telling him the truth.

There was silence on the line for a moment, before Mozzie said, “You find him, Agent Burke. Find him. You hear me?”

Wow. Mozzie was calling him by his title and name instead of some variation of The Suit.

It was just that kind of day.

* * *

The smell of burnt…everything and all the crap in the air wasn’t doing any good for Neal’s headache. Neither was the flashlight’s beam, but at least Emma had the sense not to shine it in anyone’s face.

“Well,” he said, sliding back to a sitting position by a wall. Standing made him feel like he was going to fall over, but he tried not to let that show. He sipped from the bottle of water Emma had produced from the small purse she‘d taken from her desk. “I don’t think we’re going to be able to move anymore of that stuff by the stairs. The elevator shaft is a possibility and that vent is accessible…so, who votes for what?”

“Elevator,” Diana said immediately, standing near the open doors, which they had pried apart with a piece of rebar. The shaft stretched up, open and dark for at least several floors, but they couldn’t see where the car was in the blackness. All they needed was a few floors though, to get above ground and get out of the sub-basement.

Emma was nodding. “I just want to get out of here.”

Knowing the longer they waited, the worse they’d feel, Neal said, “Elevator it is.” He glanced down at his ruined suit and leather shoes. “Not what I’d normally wear while scaling a vertical shaft, but what can you do?”

That actually pulled Diana from her claustrophobia induced funk. “Done this many times?” she asked, tossing a thumb up the shaft.

“Maybe once or twice.” He kept the reply vague and tossed some humor into the tone.

Gripping the doorframe, Diana stretched an arm into the opening and said, “I can almost reach the cable….”

Someone had watched way too many heist movies. “There are ladders on the sides of the shaft,” Neal mumbled. It would have been funny to see her try to climb the cable, but she’d probably kick his ass later if he let her do that when the ladder was much easier. “Take a pry bar.”

“Right,” Diana said, scooping up a length of pipe, then groping around in the dark more. “Got it. You two ready?”

“Sure,” Neal replied, heaving himself to his feet as Emma nodded. Neal watched as the girl positioned herself so she could shine the little light on the ladder as Diana began her ascent.

After a moment, Neal nodded to Emma. “Go on.”

Surprisingly, she shook her head. “I’ve got the light and this is still my office. You next.”

He didn’t have the reserves to argue and slowly began to climb. He had always enjoyed this sort of a thing, but at the moment he just felt dizzy and wanted to lie down. Or throw up again. Or both. He could feel a jolt every time Diana’s boots hit a new rung on the ladder and the steady beam of light began to wobble as Emma began her own trip up the ladder.

Diana passed two closed doors before stopping before the third pair. Neal could see her gripping the ladder tightly with one hand and using the other to attempt to jam the pipe into the closed seam of the doors. It was an awkward movement and he was pretty sure she wasn’t getting any leverage like that, but at present he didn’t think he cold do any better.

In fact, it was getting harder and harder to maintain his grip on the ladder. Using the skills he’d acquired over the course of his career, he hooked a leg around the ladder and wound his arms more securely around the rungs. That felt more stable.

“Diana,” he said, knowing what he was about to suggest would hurt his head like hell, “Hit the doors. Shout. Make noise.”

The sound of metal clanging off metal rang throughout the shaft and Neal bit back the urge to vomit again. Then he was sure his head was about to split open as a loud, shrill sound filled the shaft. Even Diana jumped a bit and clutched at the ladder. “What the hell is that?” she shouted as the sound died down.

“Rape whistle,” Emma’s voice echoed up from her spot down below Neal.

It was a good idea actually and Neal figured if any rescue crews were in the building, they’d have to hear that horrific sound.

Hopefully before his brain actually liquefied.


	3. Chapter 3

“What do you mean, I’d be in the way?”

Peter was not happy when the fire chief heading up the search and rescue efforts dismissed his offer to help. He knew the building and two of his people were in there.

“Look,” Chief Dyer said, firmly but not unkindly, “I know you’re concerned about your people, but my men are trained for this sort of thing. Adding someone else to the mix would only be a hindrance.”

Normally, Peter would have understood the man’s point of view, but at the moment he was infuriated. “A hindrance….” he began, when Hughes caught him by the elbow and pulled him away.

His boss was clearly trying to avert an inter-agency incident. “Burke, let them do their jobs. Go see your wife. Jones found her… and that odd little friend of Caffrey’s over by the barrier.”

Hughes gave him a push in that direction, before heading back to join Bancroft, who was now speaking with Dyer. “Use Neal’s tracker,” Peter called after him and received a nod in response.

As Peter spotted Jones, he felt a surge of relief at the possibility of seeing Elizabeth. The crowd parted for a moment and he caught sight of her pretty face… looking extremely pissed off… just before her fist lashed out, catching agent Joseph Ruiz in the jaw.

The organized crime agent went down like a bag of rocks. 

“Go, El!” Mozzie cheered as she shook her hand and winced. As Peter rushed over her, Jones caught his eye and said, “Your wife is awesome.”

Stepping over Ruiz, Peter asked, “What happened?”

It was a Mozzie who replied, pointing a finger at Ruiz, who was scowling darkly as he climbed to his feet. “He said maybe the bombers did the world a favor by taking out Neal!”

Now Peter wished he had been one to punch Ruiz and he glared at the agent, who stalked off, muttering. Then again, maybe it was better that El had been the one doing the punching. If Peter had knocked Ruiz down, the man would surely be causing a fuss. Since it had been El, his male pride would simply try to pretend it had never happened.

Stepping toward the barrier, Peter leaned across to wrap his arms around her, planting a kiss on her lips. She hugged him back fiercely and he knew she’d been scared for him… more scared than she’d ever say. He had colleagues whose spouse hadn’t been able to handle the stress of being married to an FBI agent, but he’d never had any fear that El would fall prey to that mindset.

She was made of stronger stuff than most.

He could hear Mozzie asking Jones, “So, what are you people doing find Neal?”

No one could ever call Mozzie anything but a loyal friend… well, they could call him lots of things, but loyal had been among them.

“Fire rescue is going in to try to extract anyone still trapped inside,” Peter replied. “Hughes it’s pulling up the location of Neal‘s tracker, so we’ll be able to find him no matter what.”

He didn’t say it was a possibility that the tracker wouldn’t function if it’d been crushed or incinerated, but from the expression on Marcie’s face on there was really no need. Moz, with his paranoid and detail oriented nature, probably knew more about the possible outcome of an attack on any major building in the city than any civilian ever should.

El’s eyes were similarly troubled. She might not have been paranoid conspiracy nut, but she was smart woman. She knew there was a chance Neal and Diana hadn’t survived the blast.

Peter wasn’t about to start disrespecting either of them and spout empty platitudes of reassurance. Really, there wasn’t much to say.

From his position, he could just see a flurry of activity begin over by Hughes, Bancroft and Dyer. Giving El’s shoulder a squeeze, he nodded in the direction of the command Post. “I’ll be back,” he assured her before heading back to the crowd at a trot.

As he neared them, he heard a voice crackling from the radio on Dyer’s shoulder. “…know you said you had a tracker… Is it like our locator’s? We hear almost a whistle…elevator shaft….lobby….”

Peter blanched. He remembered Ground Zero, the day after the attacks, when the air was filled with the chirping sounds of the electric locators fireman carry on them. It had been the most horrible chorus of sounds he had ever heard. Agents didn’t carry anything like that, but it didn’t mean someone didn’t happen to have a whistle or noise maker on them for some strange reason.

“Can you pry the doors open” Peter asked, feeling a surge of hope. It would be just like Neal to make an exit by climbing up an open elevator shaft.

Dyer relayed the question and the reply was fairly quick. “Some debris’s blocking it, but we think we can move it without bring anything else down.”

Progress.

* * *

Neal really hoped he hadn't actually hit Emma when he simply couldn’t refrain from being sick any longer. She had paused the piercing use of her whistle for a moment, but said nothing. Either he had missed her or she was too polite to say anything.

Above him, Diana continued to alternate striking the doors with the length of pipe and shouting. Much as he enjoyed spending time with her, he hoped to be out of here soon and not to hear the sound of her voice for at least a few days…possibly not hear the sound of anyone’s voice.

Hell, all he wanted was to curl up in a ball on his bed, in his quiet, dark room until his head stopped pounding. Was that really too much to ask?

Suddenly, Diana stopped and shouted, “Quiet!”

It took a moment for the echoes to die down, but once they did, Neal could hear the sound of someone or something moving around beyond the closed doors. Then, very muted shouts filtered through.

“Hey! Anyone in there?”

“You okay? We’re trying to get you out!”

“We’re here!” Diana replied, relief evident in her voice. “Three of us! Mostly minor injuries, one head injury.”

Huh. Maybe he hadn’t been so subtle about the amount of pain he was in after all. “I’m fine,” he mumbled, but didn’t dare release the grip he had on the ladder to peer upwards at her. He was also fairly certain that the vertigo inspired by such an act would not be pleasant.

“You were out cold,” she snapped back, then pounded on the door with her fist, slowly, steadily, to let the rescuers know they were still there.

From the ladder below, Emma piped up in support of Diana’s argument. “You’ve got a concussion,” he said very seriously. “I’ve no clue how you’re as functional as you are.”

Functional. They’d see how functional he was when it came time to finish the climb up the ladder. “Sheer willpower,” he quipped, knowing his voice sounded a little weak.

He hoped those rescue workers got the doors open soon.


	4. Chapter 4

The grinding sound the doors made as they were pried open had to have been the most wonderful thing Neal had ever heard. He tried to convince himself that it was relief at the prospect of being freed that had him light headed.

Up by the doors, Diana took the hand offered by a rescue worked and stepped neatly off of the ladder and out into the lobby. Once she was clear, the man stuck his head into the opening and said, “Climb on up, fella.”

Yeah, he didn’t think releasing his stranglehold on the ladder, which he needed to do in order to climb, sounded like such a good idea. He was pretty sure he’d fall if he even tried to unwind his limbs from the rungs.

“Um,” he hesitated to even look up at the man. “I don’t think I can right now.”

“He’s got a concussion.” Emma seemed to feel no shame in ratting him out. “He was unconscious and keeps puking.”

“Mmmhmm,” the man replied, then added kindly, “I’m Patrick. You feeling a bit dizzy there, son?”

Damn it.

Neal hated having to admit to a weakness, but he didn’t think there’d be any other way off of the ladder of doom. “You could say that,” he ground out. “Also, I’m Neal. Emma’s down below.”

“I think one of his pupils was sluggish, but couldn’t really get a good look down here.”

“Tattle tale,” he muttered down at Emma and there was a chuckle in reply.

“You two just hold tight for a moment and we’ll rig up a harness and get you out of there,” Patrick assured them, then leaned further out over the maw. “How you doing down there.”

“I’m peachy,” Emma replied, sarcasm dripping from her tone “The freaking building fell on us!”

If Neal hadn’t been feeling so terrible, her disgruntled sarcasm would have been amusing.

* * *

When Peter saw Diana come stumbling out of the building, dust covered and battered, but very much alive, he felt a surge of relief. With Jones at his side, he trotted over towards the EMT’s, where Diana had been escorted. They had to wait several minutes to speak to her, because she was surrounded by some terrifyingly intense paramedics. 

Seriously, one of them glared and brandished a shockingly large needle to keep them at bay.

By the time they got close to Diana, she looked annoyed and had an oxygen mask strapped to her face. Before Peter could say anything, she raised a hand and pointed back to the building.

Another group of rescue workers were exiting the structure, carrying someone on a collapsible stretcher. A young woman was being led out as well, but moving under her own power.

“I’m guessing that’s Neal,” Diana said, voice muffled under the mask. “I knew he’d gotten a bump on the head, but he seemed…well, not okay, but mobile.”

Peter nodded and patted her on the back. To Jones he said, “Go tell El, Moz, June and Chrissy to meet us at Angel Memorial.”

Chrissy, Diana’s partner, had arrived a short time ago and was waiting with El. June had showed up, expressing concern for all involved and Peter could only be glad the older woman hadn’t been around earlier when Ruiz had been mouthing off. She might have killed him.

Crossing to the ambulance where Neal was being loaded in, Peter was surprised to see that the younger man was awake. The blue eyes were a bit sluggish, but did manage to focus on him…more or less. “Hey Peter,” he greeted him, the waved a shaking hand in the air. “What a day, huh?”

Yeah, what a day.


	5. Chapter 5

Even in the crowded waiting room at Angel Memorial, Peter though they made for an eclectic little group. He and Jones were in their shirt sleeves and ties, having shed their bullet proof vests when other people in the room had been staring. El looked neat but ruffled in her dress and heels, while June looked like someone who’d somehow wandered into their midst from her penthouse. Chrissy was in with Diana in a treatment room and Mozzie was shooting suspicious glances at the various members of the hospital staff as they passed by.

While a doctor had informed them that Diana and Emma were both fine, being treated with oxygen due to all the crap they’d inhaled and having various cuts stitched and cleaned, Neal was still being assessed. Peter wasn’t sure what was taking so long. Sure, his consultant had take a whack to the head, but it certainly wasn’t the first time and probably wouldn’t be the last. He’d been a bit off, but he’d been talking and that had to be a good sign.

Peter always worried when Neal got too quiet.

Finally, a young, tired looking man came striding out and said, “Who’s here for a Neal Caffrey?”

All five of them converged on the young man, who stepped back, clearly unused to having such a large group bear down on him quite so intensely. “Well?” Peter asked the man, who needed a little prompting. “How is he?”

“Mr. Caffrey said it was all right to speak with you all, so I can tell you that he has suffered a Grade 3 concussion. He’s displaying many of the signs of traumatic brain injuries, such as dizziness, vomiting, nausea, lack of motor coordination, difficulty balancing, blurred vision and tinnitus. His cognitive function tests came back without any red flags, just some confusion, disorientation and some minor post-traumatic amnesia…”

“Amnesia!” El interrupted unhappily. “That doesn’t sound like something minor.”

The doctor shook his head. “No, no, it’s not as bad as it sounds. Mr. Caffrey simply can’t recall the moments leading up to the injury itself. This is not at all uncommon after a concussion. I have no reason to doubt he’ll make a full recovery.”

That was a relief.

“Will you be keeping him here or sending him home?” This was a question from June and the doctor looked at her, clearly thinking she’d be less scary than the grumpy FBI agent. He was wrong.

“Considering what he went through, we’re going to keep him for the night before releasing him to the care of someone who can monitor him for worsening symptoms,” the doctor glances around at them. “I’m assuming that won’t be an issue.”

He was met by a chorus of no’s and he tossed a thumb back towards the treatment room. “It’ll be a while until we can get him up to a room. Two of you at a time can visit him till then.”

June gave a little nod and a small smile. Then she looked at Peter. “You all can go in first. I think I’ll go look at the wing Byron and I donated to the hospital a few years ago.”

The doctor paled and Peter held in a smirk. June really knew how to take over a situation. Mozzie had already puttered off towards Neal’s room, so Peter ambled along behind him, leaving El and June to scare the doctor some more. Jones would keep them from doing anything too…much.

Or at least he’d try.

Neal was sitting, propped up in his bed, pale and still a bit dusty, though clearly someone had made an attempt to clean him up. Without the figurative armor of his suits, Neal looked smaller than he usually did, and his skin seemed to nearly blend into the sheets. There were splotches of color here and there, bruises and small contusions. Peter wasn’t sure what was in the IV dripping into Neal’s veins, but his eyes were a bit unfocused.

“Hey, Neal,” Peter said, then waited till the con man was at least partially looking at him. Mozzie was busily flipping through the medical chart and muttering to himself. “How you feeling?”

“Okay,” he said, then cricked his neck. “Bit of a headache, but noting too bad. I really want to sleep, but they won’t let me…What happened?”

Peter frowned. While it wasn’t the clear, studied speech he was used to hearing coming from Neal, it wasn’t too bad. He supposed it couldn’t hurt to let him know what was going on. “Some anti-government militia group from east of nowhere North Dakota is claiming to be behind the bombing, but we really don’t know yet.”

“Oh,” was the reply, then he brightened a little and said, “The doctor cut off my tracker. I didn’t.”

Peter chuckled. “I’ll worry about that when you can walk without falling over.”

“Okay, just thought you should know.” He fell quiet. “Everyone else all right?”

Heaving a sigh, Peter replied honestly. “In a blast that size…we lost some people, but our division came out pretty lucky. You and Diana were the only ones injured.”

“Silver lining,” Neal mused and Peter saw his eyes droop, so he continued.

“Hey, El punched Ruiz!”

“What!?” That got his attention and a bit of a smile. “Oh, I wish I got to see that.”

“It was pretty awesome,” Mozzie added, looking up to grin. “Just bam! And down he went.”

Neal grinned a little and said, “Bet you were jealous, Peter.”

“I think everyone who’s ever met the man would be jealous,” Peter laughed, then nodded out toward the waiting room. “No El and June are ganging up on your doctor. Poor kid doesn’t stand a chance.”

“No chance,” Moz and Neal agreed and Peter took a seat by Neal’s bed in order to make sure his consultant didn’t nod off. Mozzie leaned against a wall, keeping one eye fixed on the door in his paranoid little way.

Peter began telling Neal all that had gone down outside the building, Moz adding color commentary about his viewpoint. In an instant, Peter almost laughed. Sitting in a hospital room with a world class con man/art thief/forger and…well, whatever Mozzie was, while his wife and June browbeat some random doctor into submission…that was not something that would have seemed normal a few years ago.

This was his life.

It was crazy…but he had to admit it was usually kinda fun.


End file.
